"Margaret!"
"Wait, Margaret! Stop!"
"Please, don't force yourself. If you rush like that, you'll only hurt your foot again!"
Frankestein's shout—loud, firm, and without the slightest effort to lower his volume—echoed instantly throughout the long hospital corridor.
The people sitting nearby—family members of patients and nurses taking a brief rest—jumped in surprise. Heads turned instinctively, brows furrowed, and faces filled with questions about what was truly unfolding.
The sight they witnessed next only heightened their curiosity.
A female student in a school uniform was moving rapidly down the center of the hallway. Her steps nearly resembled a sprint, despite one of her legs being wrapped in a thick, brown bandage that was clearly not ready to be pushed that hard.
Behind her, a doctor ran with long strides, trying desperately to match the girl's frantic rhythm.
His face was far too familiar—the kind of face that frequently graced hospital brochures, local television screens, or was simply whispered about in admiring tones by patients and staff alike. Every eye fixed on him recognized who he was instantly.
But this time, the calm, controlled professional expression he usually wore didn't hold. There were streaks of frustration and a surge of anxiety that he couldn't hide in time.
Every now and then, the doctor's hand would reach forward, trying to grasp the girl's arm—only to end up hanging in thin air every time she increased her speed, even by just a fraction.
"Margaret!"
"Listen to me first!"
"Stop, right now! Don't run like that!"
Frankestein shouted again, his voice cracking louder and harsher this time. The veins in his neck bulged prominently, quivering with every forced breath he took.
Physically, Frankestein was far superior. His towering frame cast a shadow that almost swallowed Margaret whole every time they passed beneath the flickering lights of the hospital corridor. With his long strides and broad shoulders, it should have been effortless for him to simply reach out and grab the arm of a schoolgirl.
Yet, the reality was far from what he expected. Every time he surged forward, Margaret seemed to find a new gap, a new burst of speed to slip away.
"Wait, Margaret!"
"Why won't you listen to me?! Stop this instant!"
"What if your injury flares up and you're forced to stay out of school for weeks, huh?! Think about it!"
The sound of Frankestein's frustration and impatience echoing from behind didn't make Margaret slow down—much less stop.
On the contrary, she quickened her pace, the soles of her shoes hitting the hospital floor in a frantic, irregular rhythm. Her breathing grew heavy, but she didn't care. Her focus was singular: keep moving forward.
When her instincts screamed that Frankestein's hand was too close—close enough to grab her arm and force her to a halt—Margaret reflexively broke into a light jog. Just a few swift steps, enough to reclaim the distance, before she returned to a high-speed walk.
She completely ignored the whispers of the people around her—the bewildered looks and the curious murmurs. Her only goal was to get out of this hospital and go home.
Her business there was technically finished. Although a lingering unease remained deep in her heart—a small, unextinguished spark of anxiety—she chose to ignore it.
Chase himself had said it was fine for her to be in the treatment room alone with Doctor Berry. Armed with that, she had stepped out, hoping to slip away while Frankestein was occupied with Chase's administrative paperwork.
But her hopes had shattered instantly. Instead of escaping undetected, she had run straight into him, and that unexpected encounter had devolved into this desperate chase.
On the other side, Chase stood motionless directly in front of the door to the patient room he had just occupied.
His eyes never wavered from the scene unfolding before him—the silhouette of Frankestein charging with long strides and Margaret, desperately twisting away.
His hands were secretly clenched into tight fists inside the pockets of his thick, oversized fur jacket. A faint furrow appeared between his brows, a clear sign that his mind was far from calm.
An internal war raged within his head. He wanted to give chase. He wanted to scream Margaret's name. He wanted to end this madness in his own way.
Yet, simultaneously, a sharper anxiety gripped him.
What if Frankestein managed to touch Margaret again? What if those hands grabbed her arm—too roughly, too intimately—and Chase wasn't there to stop it? The mere thought made his jaw tighten, his teeth gritting hard behind his mask.
"Actually... what exactly is happening between the three of you?"
Berry's voice—soft, nearly drowned out by the hospital's frantic hum—brushed against the back of Chase's neck.
The subtle jolt made Chase snap his head around, finding Berry standing beside him. The doctor's gaze was fixed straight ahead—tracking the silhouettes of Frankestein and Margaret as they drifted further away, swallowed by the current of people in the hallway.
"More precisely..."
Berry paused, exhaling slowly before turning his gaze toward Chase.
"How do you all know each other? And how did that cut on your lip happen? Did you just get into a fight with... Frankestein Hyung?"
"Furthermore, what kind of relationship do you have with Margaret? How did you come to know her?"
His tone flattened. There was no intonation, no tremor; even the pauses felt deliberate.
Berry's eyes narrowed. He was no longer just looking; he was observing—sharp, meticulous, nearly unblinking. He traced Chase's expression with a cold, almost cruel precision, as if every micro-twitch on the idol's face held a secret he couldn't afford to miss.
"Wouldn't it be a grave situation if your fans found out about this—considering you're the type who is almost never dragged into scandals?"
"And not just for you, but for Margaret as well. In this world, an ordinary person like her never stands to gain in these situations."
"That's the unwritten law of the entertainment industry, isn't it?"
His voice shifted again, dropping into a low, conspiratorial murmur. Even the glint in his eyes reflected a cold, underlying threat.
Chase wasn't startled. He wasn't shocked, nor did he display even the slightest sign of being bothered by Berry's flat tone or the gaze that seemed to pierce right through his skin.
Instead, his ears caught that one specific name—a foreign name, one he had never heard before, one that should never have existed in his world. Instantly, something deep inside him jolted.
A faint but unmistakable glint flashed in his eyes.
"Frankestein?"
He repeated the name as if to ensure he hadn't misheard it.
"So... that tall doctor's name is Frankestein?"
The tone of his voice was unexpectedly innocent—the voice of a child who had just discovered something wondrous, asking with a sense of joy. It was soft and slightly off-key, muffled and imperfect behind the mask he wore.